


Peace comes dropping slow

by crackinthecup



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slash, fallen banners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maeglin learns how to swim. Set at some indeterminate time after both Maeglin and Celebrimbor are re-embodied in Valinor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace comes dropping slow

**Author's Note:**

> All credit for the title goes to W.B. Yeats and his poem _The Lake Isle of Innisfree_.

“Tyelpë—” 

“I’m here.” 

Celebrimbor swam over to where Maeglin was stranded, features creased with panic. He molded himself to Maeglin’s back, sliding his arms around him to encircle his waist, drawing him even closer. 

“Just tread water,” Celebrimbor advised, breath hot against Maeglin’s skin. “Pretend you’re running. That’s it.” 

Maeglin paddled his feet in the warm water. His fingers gripped about Celebrimbor’s forearms a little too quickly, a little too tightly. 

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled in an undertone. 

Celebrimbor chuckled at his ear. “This is how people swim, usually.” 

“Don’t patronize.” 

Celebrimbor pressed an apologetic little kiss to his cheek. “You’re doing great.” 

Maeglin huffed with exertion. He tightened his hold on Celebrimbor’s arms. Celebrimbor winced, but said nothing. “Can we—” 

“Of course.” Celebrimbor propelled himself through the water with Maeglin in tow, toward the bank closest to them; their clothes were there, rumpled into a haphazard pile by a cluster of reeds. As soon as his feet sank into solid sand, Maeglin let out the tiniest sigh of relief, visibly slumping as the tension drained from him. 

“Have you truly never swum before?” 

Maeglin graced him with a glare. “There was one stream in that whole accursed forest, and that was barely wide enough for a frog to find one decent-sized stone to sit on. So no, I have never swum before.” 

Celebrimbor regarded him pensively for a moment. He swiped an absent arm through the water. “I learned here, with my grandfather.” He gestured to the little round lake and the surrounding wood. “My father has never liked swimming.” 

“Hmm. Neither has mine, so at least we have that in common.” 

“At least?” Celebrimbor teased with a smile, earning a shrug. 

“As far as swimming is concerned.” 

The last rays of sunlight filtered through the leafy boughs on the other side of the lake. They skimmed the glossy surface of the water and touched it to a gentle red glow. Celebrimbor’s gold earrings gleamed, reflecting the light in brilliant facets, and Maeglin watched for a moment, mesmerized. Celebrimbor’s hair was plastered to his neck; it tumbled into his eyes and stuck to his cheeks. Droplets of water streamed down his bare chest and shoulders, transmuting into a sheen as they caught the failing sunlight, and beneath, his skin was golden-brown from the countless hours they had spent roaming through the wide, open lands to the west, beyond Tirion. 

Maeglin sidled closer. The sand felt ticklish, though not unpleasant, and the water lapping at his skin was warm. He thought that perhaps this had not been such a bad idea. He reached for Celebrimbor’s hand and threaded their fingers together. Celebrimbor turned from the sunset to look at Maeglin, and his eyes shone with something soft and honeyed. He gave an affectionate squeeze to Maeglin’s fingers and pressed his smile to Maeglin’s lips. 

Maeglin shuffled closer still. He draped his arms round Celebrimbor’s shoulders in one lazy motion, even as Celebrimbor’s hands settled at the small of his back, stroked their way downward to his hips. 

Maeglin brushed lanky strands of hair off Celebrimbor’s brow, letting his fingers linger on the delicate helix of his ear and the cool metal studded into it; he cupped his palm about the base of his neck, deepening the kiss, and Celebrimbor happily obliged with a muffled noise of contentment. Maeglin could feel the heat begin to pool at the base of his stomach, and eagerly he shifted his hips, in anticipation. 

Celebrimbor pulled back ever so slightly; he gave a breathless little laugh against Maeglin’s lips. “No one will miss us for another hour at least,” he murmured and kissed him again, quick and chaste. Then he moved away, wading through the water toward the near shore. He turned back to Maeglin with a brilliant, promising smile and extended his hand. “We should make the most of it.”  



End file.
